Highway to Hell, The 150th Hunger Games: Open SYOT
by Rose Tyler Valiant Child
Summary: 'To show that in their war against the Capitol, the districts were fighting their own brethren, two tributes of each sex will be Reaped, and must immediately fight each other to the death onstage for the honor of competing in the Hunger Games.' With a quarter quell like that, every step will take you further down the highway to hell.
1. Power

**Hola, peeps. I am Rose Tyler, the Valiant Child, and this is my SYOT. The form will be on my profile. Submit by PMs only, please and 'fanks'. I look forward to, with insurmountable glee, receiving your tributes.**

you're politically correct no matter what you say  
convincing us all in every single kind of way

-Clawfinger, Power

It really was a testament to President Tanaquil Charix's patience that three hours waiting didn't budge her decision a bit.

"I told you, it's a stupid quarter quell idea to have under ten year olds. How ludicrous is that? Would it be fun to see little kids bawling and running around aimlessly? Or wait, better yet, babies crawling off their platforms? It has to be changed. I have a far superior one."

"But I told you, ma'am- sir- uh, president- you'd need to take it up with the Gamemakers," stuttered her right hand man, Julius Dromeda, commonly referred to among the higher ranking citizens as 'Dromedary'.

"To heck with the Gamemakers! Camel, do you realize who you're speaking to?" She bent down from her towering height to eye level with Julius.

"The first female president, ma'am," he whispered, his adam's apple bobbing nervously in his throat.

"That's right. Now, be a good little man and replace the old quarter quell slip with my own."

He took the slip she was proffering, and made a hasty exit, not daring to test just how strict the new president could be. As he scurried off to be the bearer of bad news, he read the innocent-seeming slip of paper, shaking his head in almost sincere grief for the districts. Almost.

'To show that in their war against the Capitol, the districts were fighting their own brethren, two tributes of each sex will be chosen, and must immediately fight each other to the death for the honor of competing in the Hunger Games.'


	2. The Everlasting Scar

"Embrace me now, for I will die

The pain I feel inside will never leave

But never let go my crimson rapture...

Can you heal my soul?"

-Draconian, The Everlasting Scar

**District One Reaping**

_District One escort, Valentine Ambrosius_

"Val, maybe you should give this up?"

"I swear I am not going out on that stage without my makeup right, Perry! You know me better than that."

Paragon sighs. "You look fine. You look great."

"Easy for you to say. You don't have to parade in front of the cameras as much."

"Yes, I will. Are you crazy? The Capitol will think an escort and a mentor being married is almost as exciting as the tributes."

I can't argue with that.

Finally, I am rouged and lipsticked and powdered to perfection. I'm self-conscious about this, being an escort and having the eye of the nation of me, but I've got to pay for my outrageously expensive apartment, and at least it's for the best district. It's also my duty as daughter of the last one (my dear father Philandros). And besides, I don't want to miss the chance to show off my new _Eau de Rose._

I step out onto the stage, beaming and waving to the cameras and district. I am met with cheers that even I can tell are partly fake, but that's okay. Everyone in the Capitol loves me. I think.

"Hello, hello, hello! And isn't it a fantastic day here in District One?" I say into the microphone, holding my hand to my ear. I'm met with a few cheers, and I frown exaggeratedly.

"I asked you a question! Hey, when I ask if it's a fantastic day, I really want to hear if it is! Can we try that again?"

The roar of approval nearly sweeps me off my feet. I feel myself slipping into the naturally beloved Capitolian role of dramatist: an escort. Of course, some despise me. But that's okay, everyone in the Capitol loves me. I hope.

"Now, to business!" I sweep over to the ball of girls' names. I love my sweeping movement, I practice it all the time in the slinky red gown I'm wearing.

"All of you should know the current Quarter Quell, but in case you've been living under a rock, I'll inform you. I will first choose two girls' names. There may, of course, be volunteering. Then the two girls, Reaped or volunteered or whatever, will immediately fight to the death onstage. The lucky victorious lady of that little fight will have the honor of competing in the Hunger Games, then I'll do the same with the boys! So, have fun!"

I see a substantial amount more of afraid children than in previous years, but that's understandable, I suppose. The ones to watch out for are the clearly eager ones, the ones who would love to win this preliminary fight. There would be more in District Two, but these ones are good as well.

"Our first female contestant is...Esmeralda Kingston!"

"I volunteer!" a girl wearing a tan tunic shouts, and vaunts onto the stage. "Esme, go back."

"No, Eliza! I refuse the volunteer!" her friend shouts.

"Sorry, but I got onto the stage first," Eliza says apologetically. "Aren't those the rules?" she asks me.

"Yes, I believe so," I reply. "What's your name, dear? And how old are you?"

"I'm eighteen and my name is Elizabeth Armani."

My mouth falls open. "No. Way. Elizabeth Armani, daughter of Stella and Haven Armani, ran away eight years ago?"

She purses her lips. "Yes. Hello, dear parents," she tells the camera. "I hope you'll pay more attention to your daughter than your parties now that I'm going into the Games. I've learned a lot on the streets," she says, emphasizing 'on the streets'. This is so amazing. I'll get to tell all my friends that I met the runaway daughter of the most affluent socialites in District One!

Elizabeth stands a few feet away from me, absolutely still, unheeding the anger (fear? annoyance?) of her friend Esmeralda.

"And our next female tribute is...Cleo Br-"

"I volunteer!" yells a small girl, dashing up to the stage before I can even finish the name.

"You eager little killers," I coo. "Emphasis on little. How old are you? And what's your name, sweetie?"

She flips back her dyed black hair, which is in a style that's weird even to me. It's all shaggy and over her face, and I think it was called emo back before Panem.

"I'm thirteen. My name is Silver Grates. And I am definitely winning this battle."

She bares her teeth at Elizabeth, who rolls her eyes at such petty behavior, but then grins ferociously back.

"By the way, no weapons allowed," I hastily put in. "Paragon, scan them for me, would you please?"

He steps forward and runs a scanner beam over the girls, then checks the readings. "The little one is clean-" Silver looks furious- "But the ginger has a blade. Give it to me, ginger."

She sighs. "My name is Elizabeth, and I'm not a ginger anyway, I'm a redhead. I'm not calling you bignose, am I? Do I get my dagger back after I win this battle?"

"No. Obviously you couldn't bring it into the arena, it's an unfair advantage. If you win the Games, you can have it back. Now give it here." He extends his hand.

Reluctantly, Elizabeth reaches into the waistband of her khaki cargo pants and draws out an elaborately designed dagger. "This is my favorite thing. If you lose it or damage it, you're in deep trouble."

"Yeah, yeah, sure, gingy," Paragon says, tucking it into his pocket. "I'll keep it safe while I pick my teeth with it."

I give him a kiss. "Though you are crude and annoying, I love you, Perry. Now to business," I repeat, stepping back into a fenced area of the stage. "Begin fighting, and may the odds be ever in your favor!" I tell the girls.

"En garde," says Elizabeth, smiling confidently.

"Have at thee," says Silver, smirking cheekily.

Silver makes the first move. She lunges forward, there's a blur of movement too fast for me to follow, and now Elizabeth has a bleeding lip.

She touches her mouth with her finger and sees the blood. "Oh, you're dead, sweetie," she says, smiling almost pleasantly. It's rather disturbing.

Eliza lashes out with her long fingernails, and Silver stifles a yelp as blood flecks fly from her cheek. "Eek! Okay, we've had our fun. Let's get real," she snarls.

They crash together, tall against small, calm against mad. But the funny thing is, though I see punching at first, it quickly devolves into a catfight. I see Elizabeth pull a chunk of Silver's hair out, and in retaliation Silver scratches three deep cuts into her opponent's face.

Eliza kicks Silver in the stomach with her studded combat boot, and being older and stronger overall, she sends Silver flying into the fence in front of me. I jump back as Silver rises, blood seeping from a new cut on her head.

"You stupid runaway. You can't kick as well as my baby sister can, and I don't have a baby sister," she baits. Eliza simply rolls her eyes again and knees her opponent in the jaw, then slaps her so hard I almost feel it.

Silver spits out blood, and a tooth falls onto the stage. "You ugly witch! That was a permanent tooth. I really hate you right now. Why don't I just-" She nails Elizabeth in the chest with her bony elbow. "-Take you down now? Would you like to be punched to death or clawed?"

Eliza just gapes for a moment, winded, so Silver takes the opportunity to knock her over and twist her arm back. "How about calling me sweetie now?" she shouts.

A swift punch in the gut leaves Silver gasping, giving Elizabeth time to yank her head back by her hair.

"Okay. Sweetie."  
Elizabeth thrusts her fingers down into Silver's eyes.

There's an impossibly loud scream, and Silver breaks away, flailing blindly with her fists. Elizabeth simply looks amused and casually punches Silver in the mouth again.

"You splss- you stupid little b- GET OVER HERE SO I CAN RIP YOUR HEAD OFF!" Silver screams. She bares her teeth again in a bloody grin, one that will haunt me forever.

Eliza, slightly unnerved, takes a step back, and Silver hears it. She leaps toward the sound and bashes Elizabeth to the stage.

"I might not win, but I'm sure as heck taking you down!" she snarls. Elizabeth is off her guard enough for Silver to get in a few good jabs.

But there's only so much a blinded thirteen year old can do against a larger eighteen year old, and after receiving two black eyes, Elizabeth flips Silver over and slices up her leg with her nails. The smaller girl's dress had an artificial tear in it before, but now a real tear through dress and flesh runs up to her thigh. Blood starts to fill her white stockings and shoes.

Elizabeth starts to press down on Silver's windpipe. "Do you like gooseberries or cherries more?" she hisses. "I hope it's cherries, because that's what your face is going to look like."

She applies more pressure, and Silver gasps like a fish out of water. Breathless, she claws at Eliza's hands, but the grip is firm as steel. A milky goo mixed with blood is starting to fill the little girl's eye sockets. Little girl. She really is a little girl, and had such a small chance in this fight. Poor thing.

About thirty seconds later, the determined little girl stops struggling and falls limp. Elizabeth stabs down into her throat with her nails for good measure, and shakily rises to her feet, victor of the preliminary fight. Without a word, she kicks Silver's body off the stage. She may have won, but she's not unscathed. The pretty girl sports two black eyes, a sliced lip, and a bruised chest. She has several deep and bleeding cuts all over her face and hands. It looks like she's having some difficulty breathing. Her stylists will have one monster of a job making her pretty again.

I hear a wordless, heartbroken scream. A young woman bolts out of the observing crowd toward Silver's body. "SILVER!"

"I'm sorry, you have to go back, dear," I say. I feel like a worthless beast for acting so uncaring, but I've got to do my job.

"SILVER! SILVER! Wake up, please, please," she sobs. "Oh, please, sweetheart, wake up. Silver?"

"I'm sorry. I am so sorry," I tell her. I hope I won't be punished for showing pity. "Silver is dead. I'll provide the money for the coffin."

Paragon leans toward me. "Careful, Val," he whispers. "Gabbro will report you."

I wouldn't put it past him, I suppose. Gabbro Koichi is the other District One mentor this year. A more Games-obsessed, obsequious tattle tale was never seen.

"Silver! No, please, give me my baby back!" The young woman suddenly runs for the stage. "You did this, redhead!" she yells. "You killed my baby!"

It takes three peacekeepers to pull her back, and it's still a struggle. A young man runs out of the crowd and tries to calm his wife down, but I see tears on his face as well. He turns to me, just for a moment, and his face shows such betrayal and pain, I feel that perhaps I should be the dead one.

Elizabeth stumbles across the stage, unnerved, and possibly in shock. I quickly open the gate to my protected area and pull her in.

"She would probably have died in the actual Games anyway," I call to Silver's parents. "It was her own fault for volunteering." When did I become like this?

I hurriedly draw the first name for the boys.

"Lucent Clinton!"

A handsome boy in a tuxedo looks mildly surprised for a moment, then grins and jumps up onto the stage, his tailcoat fluttering.

"I refuse volunteers," he says, still grinning. "Can't have so many wannabes following me around."

He basks in the gaze of most of the girls in the square, and he starts to preen his blonde hair. "Yes, I am looking good. I am looking good, ladies, and won't be any the worse for wear after my victorious battle."

"You certainly are-" I begin, and see Paragon scowling. "-a good candidate to win. That's definitely what I meant. Anyway, you ready for your fight?"

"Why even ask? I'm seventeen, and in the prime of physical condition. My victory is already confirmed."

"Right. Okay, your opponent will be…" I feel around in the Reaping bowl. Please don't end up being a little one again, I pray to whatever Hunger Games deity there may be. Don't be a child. I can't bear sentencing little ones to death. Or anyone, really, but that's hidden in the deep corners of my mind, where nobody like Gabbra could discern it.

"Coren Margrave!"

A little boy looks around, bewildered. "Did you call me?" he says, his voice high-pitched and uncertain. No. This just can't happen. He's a little boy, he can't be more than twelve. Please, someone volunteer.

"I volunteer!"

Another remarkably handsome boy runs up to the stage. He seems somewhat familiar, but I can't place him. Like Lucent, he is grinning confidently and looks like victor quality. Unlike Lucent, he's wearing a tattered leather jacket and jeans, so he lacks the polished appearance of his opponent.

Lucent is unimpressed. "What is this, a rock concert for the homeless, Platinum?" he asks.

"Shocking. Where are your pristine, tuxedo-worthy manners, Clinton? Oh, wait, somebody who makes _wigs_ doesn't _have_ manners!"

"So I see you've met?" I interpose.

"Quite. In the training center, I might add." The unnamed boy bows to me, suddenly seeming more courtly than Lucent, despite his less than casual clothes. "Jazz Platinum, eighteen years old, son of District One's mayor."

"Oh my goodness!"

I turn to Mayor Gilvus Platinum. "Mr. Platinum, sir, were you aware that your son was volunteering?" My heart is pounding. Two children of incredibly important families for me to escort! Because Jazz will certainly win, being older and having access to better training facilities.

The mayor shrugs. "He was chosen to. His weapon skills are phenomenal. I know he'll win, anyway, so why worry? And I have two other sons, in case I lose this one." He laughs, but it sounds forced.

"Speaking of weapons, let's have that scan, Perry," I add. "Don't worry, Jazz. You can use your phenomenal weapon skills in the arena."

"Can we stop with the favoritism?" says Lucent. I'm only doing this so the mayor won't have me fired or some such thing, but personally I'm rooting for Lucent. After all, my wigs come from Clinton and Co.

"Yeah, yeah. Here ya go, Val." Paragon scans Jazz first. "Nothing."

"No phenomenal weapons, huh, Platinum?" Lucent whispers.

"You wish, Clinton."

"Ha. Give the scissors to me, blondie." Paragon holds out his hand to Lucent.  
"Blondie? Are you kidding me?" he mutters, but takes the scissors out of his belt. "Let me guess, you're going to pick your teeth with them."

"That's right, pretty boy. See how far you get without them. My money is not on a wig maker."

"Sure. You'll be sorry for that. We starting yet?"

"Feel free!" I scoot back so the carnage can begin without endangering me. I do wish the Quarter Quell had been different, though, I wish it didn't endanger anyone. I don't want twenty four extra tributes to die. Forty seven will in all, and it just isn't fair.

"Let's go, Platinum."

"Get ready to die, Clinton."

Jazz feints toward Lucent's leg, then kicks up at his mouth, but the shorter boy dodges easily. "What is this? Playtime for preschoolers?" he asks. Jazz growls and moves in again with a strong left hook. This time he clips Lucent on the side of his head. Lucent twirls, his arms askew, trying to stay upright.

"Who's playing now, ballerina boy?"

"I'm going to be playing with your skull as a bowling ball by the time I'm done with you." Lucent follows this up with a quick lash out that connects with his opponent's shoulder.

"Agh! I'm dying! Spare me, spare me!" Jazz snorts. "Help me! That friendly tap to my shoulder nearly did me in!" But he's wincing, and the mayor clenches his fists on the fence.

Boys. Never admit they're hurt, that's their code of honor apparently.

"I don't have any normal weapons, Clinton, but as you know, I'm phenomenal." Jazz leans down to remove his shoe, and Lucent's smile disappears for a moment.

"Studded with iron. Thank you for the idea to use them, ginger," Jazz says, nodding to Elizabeth. "I'll probably kill you quickly."

The shoe flies out of Jazz's hand and off the stage before he can strike with it, and Jazz is left stumbling from the force of the punch.

"Never," says Lucent, drawing back his fist for another strike, "Talk to a girl that way."

"What, so I can't talk to _you_ that way? I didn't even feel that." Still, the mayor's knuckles are white and his fingernails are digging into his palms, and Jazz is clearly displaying fake bravado.

"You need to learn some manners!"

"You need to learn who your betters are, wig maker!" Jazz stomps on Lucent's foot with his other shoe.

"AAH! You cheated!" Lucent exclaims. His eyes are watering. "We're only supposed to use ourselves, not tools. You should be disqualified."

"Boo hoo, boo hoo. Look at the baby crying. You should know, wiggy, that anything not obviously qualified as a weapon is fair game to use."

"Fine then. Is this?" Lucent pulls off his necktie. "I would hate to break any rules."

Jazz laughs. "Excuse me if I don't think a necktie will do me in. It's not like you could survive to use it, anyway."

He leaps for Lucent and knocks him to the stage. He brings down his fist, I hear a crunch, and Lucent screams. The smaller boy struggles to get up as his now-crooked nose starts to pour blood.

_Crunch._  
"AAAAHH!"

_Crunch._

"AAAAAAHHHH!"

Jazz hooks two fingers into Lucent's twisted nose and yanks up. The nose was already so broken…

Some of the flesh simply tears right off.

"AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!"

Jazz smiles, and chills run up and down my spine. "Too bad you never got to give me that necktie, Clinton." He kicks Lucent in the neck. Already blinded by pain, he can't do anything to defend against it. There's an awful wheeze, a cough, and Lucent curls into a little ball.

"That was too easy." Jazz stands up, practically unscathed, then leans down to wipe his bloody hands on Lucent's fine tuxedo. "Sorry, wiggy. I'll make sure your hair is made into a wig before you're incinerated."

Lucent's hand clutching the necktie snakes up to wrap around Jazz's neck. Taken by surprise, the mayor's son is dragged down to the stage. Lucent wobbles upright and steps on his opponent's head.

"You broke by dose. You bangled id. Do you know how bany girls_ liked_ by dose? I was very fond of id." Lucent cups one hand under his bleeding nose while the other strangles Jazz with the necktie. He presses down harder with his foot, and I think I hear a small, ominous creak.

"AAGH! Let me go!" Jazz gasps. He tries to pry the foot off his head, and quick as lightning, Lucent's other foot stomps down and breaks his hand.

"AAAAAHHHH!"

"Dow the dose!"

_Crunch._

Jazz's shriek is garbled through a mouth of blood.

"Ad dow, the head."

Lucent grabs Jazz by the shoulders, drags him to the side of the stage, and drops him. His head hangs over the side, and I suddenly realize what Lucent's going to do.

One more stomp on the head, and there's a terrible _crack._

If it's possible, the sight of Jazz's broken neck and limply dangling head disturbs me even more than what's happened so far.

Following Elizabeth's example, Lucent kicks Jazz's body off the stage. It sprawls limply next to Silver's body, and the bloodstained head falls so that it seems to be staring right at his father.

The mayor faints, and I catch him before he hits the stage. I feel incredibly inclined to follow his example.

"Ladies and gentlemen, your tributes from District One are Elizabeth Armani and Jazz Platinum," I slur, before joining the mayor in unconsciousness.

**Alright, I said I would post three Reaping chapters in one, but that would take a really time, and I know you want to see my awesome writing. ;) So...we cool, gurls 'n dudes? Drop a review if you like. Those fightin' peeps is nasty types, huh?**

**Okay, enough strangeness. Rose says bye!**


	3. Limelight

"All the world's indeed a stage and we are merely players."

-Rush, Limelight

**District Five Reaping**

_District Five Peacekeeper, 'Vee' Bond_

"Mrs. Tansy Barfield, Mr. Newton Flash and Miss Gilli Curian, the Reaping is ready to begin in five minutes." I bow my head deferentially and stand at the doorway. "Would you care to follow me?"

The escort and two mentors look up from their holo checkers. "Oh, already? We were just having fun," Mrs. Barfield whines. She sighs and straightens her vivid magenta wig with a stick-thin hand. "Come along, Newt, and you too Gill. I hope we'll get exciting tributes!"

"Let's hope we don't get brats again like last year," says Miss Curian.

"Right! Ike and Marie were weepy nuisances! I tell you, Gill, I was practically glad when they died! And anyway the Victor killed them, so it's not like they died randomly in an avalanche or something," says Mr. Flash.

Isaac Fleming and Marie Adio were thirteen year olds from the Boil, District Five's slums. You couldn't possibly blame them for crying. I feel a remarkable urge to throttle the three people I'm supposed to guard, but I'm a loyal Peacekeeper. A faithful soldier. I do my duty. I'm not allowed to show pity for dead tributes or contempt for high ranking citizens.

I follow my charges out of the room to the stage. Mr. Flash is far taller than I am, so when he brushes by me, his arm scrapes across my spiked helmet.

"Ouch! Cut off those spikes, fiend," he says, only half joking.

"Right. Such a fiend that peacekeeper is. What's a fiend?" Miss Curian asks.

"An evil thingie, dear," Mrs. Barfield says.

"Yes, poor Newt, did the evil thingie Peacekeeper scratch you?" says Miss Curian, wrapping her arms around her companion.

"Sorry, Mr. Flash," I say, not feeling sorry at all. "It won't happen again."

"Prig," I add under my breath, but I don't let anyone hear. I'm a dutiful soldier, and I must not have opinions.

I follow Mr. Flash and Miss Curian into the fenced area onstage, then step out, close the gate, and stand at attention by the wall of the Justice Building.

"Everyone ready? You sure you can stand the gore, Gill? Want to go inside?" Mrs. Barfield asks.

"N-no, I think I'll be okay," says Miss Curian, taking deep breaths. "Newt, hold me tight."

"Of course, sweetie," says Mr. Flash. He takes her in an embrace that would fit better in a red light area than in the eyes of Panem's viewers.

Miss Curian sure didn't have a problem with gore in her Games when she brutally beat to death a tough District Two kid. Afterward, she licked the blood from her fingers and his wounds and then smiled chillingly. I've had nightmares about it, but I'm not supposed to be scared or have feelings or emotions. I do my duty and nothing else is required.

"Anyways," Mrs. Barfield says, "Gentlemen first this year!" You never say anyways, you airhead, you're supposed to say anyway. "Let's hope they'll be exciting! I think I'll draw both at once. The lucky Reaping winners are…" She digs around in the Reaping bowl. Oh no...I have a little brother, he's only thirteen. Please don't choose my baby brother Nicolaus. Not Nico.

"Hyde Dro'Gen- gracious, that's the funniest name I've ever heard- and Tyler Bolks!"

"Newt, why's the first boy's name funny?" whines Miss Curian. "I hate not being in on the joke!"

"It's like hydrogen, pet," says Mr. Flash. "It's an element."

Two boys in the crowd look up at the stage. One is from the fourteen year old section and one's from the sixteen year olds. The older one walks up to the stage with not a trace of fear or reluctance. He's wearing a black jacket and plain brown trousers, and has a faint smile on his dark face.

"And you are?" Mrs. Barfield asks.

"Hyde. Sixteen, in case you're blind. Going to win."

"Hm, well, you seem pretty cool. You're a little cutie. Rawr. Anyways, Tyler Bolks! Come out, come out, wherever you are!"

The fourteen year old walks out of the crowd with small, contained steps. Everyone offers him a path through. I hear a disturbance in the audience, I hear them saying 'That's not right', 'That's not fair', 'He was a good boy'.

He has glasses, and his hair is curly like Hyde's except blonde instead of black. I see fear but acceptance on his face. To me, being Reaped seems like it would be the worst moment possible for a child. Worse than death, which offers painless oblivion, the moment when your name is called must be the beginning of the end. The end of hope. The realization that there's no escape.

"Aw, you look so cute!" Mrs. Barfield says, wringing her hands. "Darn it, now I feel guilty that I want Hyde to win!"

"Newt, if that little boy wins, can I kiss him?" Miss Curian says, running her lips across Mr. Flash's arm. "He looks sweet. I want to eat him up."

"No, pet, he's not going to win. He's too little."

"But I want him to win! Nnnnn!" She shakes her hands frustratedly. "Make him win!"

"Sorry, Gill."

"Well, eating up of little tributes aside, they must be scanned now. No smuggling pointy things, boys!" Mrs. Barfield says. "Scan them, Head Peacekeeper."

Head Peacekeeper Coval Farley steps forward and runs his scanner over Hyde and Tyler.

"Bolks is clear," he reports. "Wait, a pencil." Farley reaches into Tyler's front pocket and pulls out the pencil. "Sorry, Bolks. You could do some serious stabbing with that." He tosses me the pencil.

Tyler only sighs and sticks his hands into his now-empty pockets. "Sorry for liking to draw."

"Dro'Gen is- brimstone! Stay still, boy!" Farley takes an involuntary step back. "Are you lacking in sense? Does it not occur to you that keeping a matchbox and a vial of gasoline on the same chain could be a bad idea?"

"They were for my opponent in the case I was Reaped," Hyde pouts. "They're technically not weapons."

"Then should I give Bolks's pencil back? That isn't technically a weapon."

"Go ahead. I wouldn't mind a little pencil ash along with his own ashes."

"Whee, a fire," Miss Curian cooes.

"Just hand them over, Dro'Gen. Carefully."

Hyde scowls and pulls a delicate jewelry chain out of his shirt. It has the vial and matchbox strung onto it. Farley takes it from Hyde's hands gingerly, then throws it over to me.

Brimstone! Is he trying to kill me?

"Now it's time for you to fight, children. May the odds be ever in your favor. I can't wait to escort whichever one of you is the lucky victor here!" Mrs. Barfield beams and steps into the fenced area and nods to the boys.

"Hey, Bolks. Think it'll be fun seeing your intestines spill out when I rip you apart like a vortex?" Hyde says, sneering at his small opponent. He starts to back Tyler against the edge of the stage, cutting off his retreat.

"Since when have you been a hole in space sucking in all matter and light?" Tyler replies, retreating from Hyde's menacing approach. "That really isn't scary."

"You aren't scared? I can do scary. I can scare you until you cry like a little girl."

"You don't understand," Tyler says wearily. "I'm so scared I'm going into shock right now. I fully understand that my painful death is a probable conclusion and that my blood, possibly entrails as well, will be spread across the stage in a rorschach pattern. But I will not curl up and sob."

"That's what you think."

Hyde makes a sudden leap, covering the distance between him and Tyler in a single bound. He knocks the smaller boy down, his balled fist immediately going for Tyler's mouth, and I instinctively cover my face when blood specks spray up.

I hear a strangled gasp from the boy pinned to the stage, and catch a glimpse of his lip split wide open before Hyde is striking him again.

"Cry, Bolks! Sob! Tell me I win!" Hyde yells. His face is twisted in rage, and his fists are slamming into Tyler over and over again. "Tell me I beat you! Tell me to kill you! Scream!"

He pauses for one moment, and the silence is so complete I hear blood dripping from the little boy's face.

"N-n-no."

"TELL ME TO KILL YOU! TELL ME YOU GIVE IN!"

"No."

"I'll make it quicker for you. If you know your death is a foregone conclusion, make it less painful."

"No. I w-won't."

There is pain in his voice, so much pain, and unshed tears, and fear, but he will not give in. What a remarkable child. But I can't feel pity for him. I don't have emotions. I must not.

"NOW!"

"N-no!"

There is more crunching and horrible gasping, and I hear the audience whispering again. 'This isn't right', 'Somebody stop this', 'He's a child, you can't do this to him'. I agree. I whole-heartedly agree. But I'm not allowed to stop this madness.

"TELL ME I WIN!"

"N-n-no. No. N-never."

"How will it feel, having your stomach pulled up through your throat, and seeing your own brain in my hands as I crush it?"

"Th-that's a logical impossib-bility and it c-can't happen."

"WHY? WHY WON'T YOU GIVE IN? HOW?"

"M-m-my Mum and Dad are wa-watching and I c-can't let them s-see me scream." The sight of that small boy, fair hair matted with gore, eyes of the very young and wronged, it makes me want to tear over there and push Hyde off the stage to save Tyler. But I can't. I can't.

"Yeah? Well watch this, Mum and Dad. By the way, Bolks, you asked for it."

Hyde pushes his fingernails down into Tyler's belly, and there's an unspeakably horrible ripping noise. The skin parts, revealing…

So much blood.

No. No, he can't.

SO MUCH BLOOD.

Organs and so much blood and torn flesh and I just can't handle it and there's a piercing cry rattling around my brain. For a moment I think it's me, because Tyler just can't give in, he can't scream, but he is.

"We got a scream there, didn't we?" Hyde says smugly.

The crowd is disturbed- a man and a woman are running out-

"Why?" the small, beaten boy chokes out. "W-why?"

"The villain of a piece always says it's because some terrible thing happened to them and they're traumatized, right? That you must feel their pain." Hyde muses. "Well, I'm proud to be the villain, and my trauma is that my parents never payed attention to me. Sounds small, but it's surprising how much it hurts when you ask for a simple act of love, even just a hug, and don't ever get it. Every other child had kindness and love at home, and friends at school. I never had any. So, parents, I HOPE YOU'RE WATCHING NOW!"

The man and woman are closing in, though the onlookers are trying to hold them back.

"Now say it. Say please."

"I-I-I can't...no, no, NO! DON'T! STOP!"

Hyde is bracing himself on the blood-slicked stage and pulling Tyler's foot. With a simple pop, it dislocates. Then the other.

"AAAH- no, don't! AAAAAAHH!"

There's a loud crack as Hyde's booted foot comes down on Tyler's face. The glasses shatter and shards dig into Tyler's eyes and I don't want to watch but there's an awfully sick fascination that draws everyone to it.

Somebody let those people through the crowd. Somebody stop this. Somebody save Tyler. Every scream of his pain, every sob drives a fist into my gut. It feels like Nico is dying. I don't know this child. But his struggle must surely make every person in Panem feel this way, surely every man, woman and child watching must feel Tyler's pain.

"Say it. Now."

"PLEASE!"

"I can't hear you!"

"PLEASE STOP!"

"I'm going to have to hear you."

"PLEEEAAASE!"  
"You want this to keep going on?"

"NO! NO, PLEASE DON'T PLEASE DON'T PLEASE DON'T!"

"Bored now."

Hyde digs his fingers into Tyler's eyes, ignoring the glass shards, and scoops them out. Just like that.

Tyler's back arches in agony, and surely Hyde must be done, there's nothing else possible for him to do to that little boy.

"TYLER!"

"Looks like the gang's all here," Hyde says lightly. "I bet those are your parents, right?"

The only answer is the breath hissing between Tyler's teeth as he shakes uncontrollably.

"Well, we should give them a show, right?" Hyde picks up a handful of the glass shards and pries open Tyler's mouth. "You ate your words, now why not eat something corporeal?"

"Please."

The simple utterance pauses Hyde. "What?"

"Please. No more. I g-g-give in, I lose, you w-win, please stop, it hurts too much, you b-beat me, make it stop, p-p-please kill me quickly." The sightless, maimed, crippled boy reaches out one bloodied hand. Just a hand. And it breaks my heart. "I c-can't see my Mum and D-Dad. Are they th-there?"

"Yeah. Trying to storm the stage."

"P-please make them st-stop. N-nobody else needs to f-feel what I feel."

His Mum and Dad, on the verge of reaching Hyde despite the Peacekeepers, stop. They hear their dying child. Their grief is palpable, and I can never imagine what they feel if I feel like my world is collapsing.

"They stopped. Hey Bolks, they stopped, are you happy? Bolks. Bolks...Tyler? Tyler, they stopped."

Pain is etched on Tyler's face, and the empty holes where his eyes should be are staring out blankly.  
He's dead.

Hyde staggers back, as if realizing what he just did, but he quickly regains himself and enters the fenced area silently.

"Aw, I wanted more blood," Miss Curian pouts.

"You'll see a lot in the arena," Hyde tells her.

"Well, that was, uh, exciting!" Mrs. Barfield warbles. "How fun! Now, um, it's time to choose the girls." She takes a slip from the girls' bowl, too shell-shocked to remember that she had been going to take two at once, and reads out the name.

"Veena Bond!"

What?

What? No. That is impossible. They told me my name would be taken out if I became a Peacekeeper. What? How…?

"That sounds like your name, Vee Bond," says Mr. Flash, looking down at me. "Funny."

"That's because it is." I whip off my helmet, and feel relieved as brown curls tumble down my back. "At last. I am so, so sick of being a grown man, neither of which I am, although nearly grown."

"You're a girl?" says Mr. Flash. No, Newton. I'm not a formal Peacekeeper anymore.

"You're eighteen?" says Mrs. Barfield. I mean, Tansy.

"You should cause a lot of blood!" squeals Gilli. "What fun!"

"I accept my position as tribute, and I know that much of District Five will be happy with that." It's the least I can do to honor Tyler Bolks. I will let the child against me win.

"I v-volunteer."

A small redheaded girl steps out of the seventeen year olds. "I volunteer," she repeats.

"Well! That's quite a twist!" Tansy says. "Vee- I mean, Veena- go back to your place. No Peacekeepers in the Games."

"You can't!" I shout.  
"I c-can."

"Oh, I forgot! Our other female tribute is...Blaise Brites!"

"NO!"

The girl who volunteered is completely devastated as a perfect match of her, identical in appearance and clothes, bursts into tears. Twins? They have to be twins. One volunteers, and the other is Reaped. What an awful fate.

"No! Blaise!"

"Spark! Why did you volunteer, why, why, why?"

"They made me."

"Who?"

"This is a lovely sisterly conversation, but we need to get the show on the road," Tansy- I mean, Mrs. Barfield, ugh, back to normal- says impatiently.

"What does get the show on the road mean, Newt?"

"It means hurry up. Now hush, pet."

"Veena Bond! Get those girls onstage! I want to see a sister-on-sister fight!"

"You'll see no fight from me, cotton candy," Blaise spits. I take her hand and pull her up to the stage before she can insult the escort further.

"Blaise, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I didn't know- I couldn't know this would happen."

"Come up to the stage, please." I touch Spark's shoulder and she shrugs me away, forcing me to drag her. She's only a year younger than I am, and I'm quite small, but I've had Peacekeeper strength training.

"I'm s-so, so sorry, Blaise," Spark sobs. "I didn't know. I didn't know. I'm sorry."

"Why? Who made you?"

"The b- the b- the bullies."

"That would be excellent for publicity, a sob story with trauma for a volunteering reason, but for that to happen you two need to fight!" Mrs. Barfield says. She taps her purple armband twice and a watch holo comes up. "Oh dear! Hurry, please, girls!"

"I won't kill you, Blaise."

"I won't kill you either. Maybe cotton candy people murder their sisters, but not the Brites." Blaise takes Spark into her arms and presses her head to her sister's as Spark starts to cry. "We aren't giving you a show. Don't even b-bother to scan for weapons, because we will never, ever fight. Never."

Their obvious love for each other touches me deeply. Obviously, it doesn't touch Mrs. Barfield. She huffs irritably. "Do we have to execute you both?"

"No! I can't let them." Spark- it's so hard to tell them apart, but I think she's Spark- rises to her full height and lifts her chin, as if acting out a role in a play. "Blaise, do you remember our game? Name a Shakespeare quote and the other says where it's from?"

"Shakespeare?"

"_Hush,_ pet."

"Yes." Blaise sniffs and wipes her nose. "You were the one who really enjoyed that. You stopped playing when we got into high school, because- I didn't hang around you. Oh, I've done what Hyde's parents did to him! I started! I'm sorry I ignored you."

"It's okay. Or rather, worry not, fair maid, thy compassion does you well."

"That's not a quote."

"It could be. Blaise, I'm sorry. I can't kill you. I dare not harm thy stately figure, and so…" Spark pulls a tube from her white blouse's pocket, a tube filled with a dark purple liquid, and I see fear flash across Blaise's face.

"No- don't!"  
Spark stands tall, and the quivering, reluctant volunteer is no more. "To thine own self be true, and twin, I have forsaken myself grievously. So, venom-" She pulls off the cap and raises the tube in a mocking salute to the cameras. "To thy work."

Before she can swallow the poison, Blaise is there, knocking her over. They are fighting despite their assuredness to the contrary, but Blaise is fighting to save Spark, who is fighting to save Blaise.

I can't even tell them apart now as they grapple for the nightlock. The cap was pushed back on, but the tube looks close to breaking as they grab at it.

"No! Just stop!"

"I'm doing this for you, numbskull! I don't want you to die!"

Somebody bites a flailing hand, and the tube is repossessed by the biter, whoever she may be.

"NO!"

"Let me explain!" The other pauses for a second, just one second, and the cap is already off. "Works every time," the biter says, and tips the whole tube into her mouth.

"NO! NO! NOOO!" Desperately pawing at her twin's mouth does no good, but the other girl tries anyway. "I-I failed…I couldn't…I'm so sorry...you're going to die?"

"Say it?"

"The angels?"

"Y-yes."

Clutching her dying twin's hand, the girl manages to compose herself for a final quote. "Now cracks a noble heart. Good-night, sweet prince; and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest."

"That was nice." A cough, and the eyes dim. "Don't worry, it doesn't hurt." A cough mixed with blood. "Parting is such sweet sorrow...but be brave, twin, and face thy trials ahead."

Her eyes slide shut, leaving her twin to sob her heart out, and leaving my own heart broken again.

"I'm B-Blaise Brites," she says, while her body is racked with shudders. "My sister, Spark, the most wonderful p-person in the world, is dead. I'm not gonna let that be for n-nothing."

To thine own self be true, though you may have now forsaken yourself grievously. Are you truly Blaise, or are you Spark, facing the grief of causing your sister's death? Either way, I know what lines befit you, poor child, and keep them dear to your broken heart.

If I must die

I will encounter darkness as a bride,

And hug it in mine arms.

***Looks around shiftily* Okay, I admit, that got more disturbing/dramatic than I intended it to be. On the plus side, isn't it a nice and long chapter? I have a few spots left open for submissions (Kitty get your rear in gear!). I kind of based Gilli Curian and Newton Flash off Drusilla and Spike from BtVS (except Gilli is less smart). Haters gonna hate, but I like those characters, so mleh. Hope you like Vee, Hyde, and Blaise/Spark! I'm such a devilish thing. Don't worry, all is revealed in the blog!**

**Anyway, ah lerve reviews, and Rose Tyler Valiant Child is signing off now.**


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